Cloaked Stars
by girl from the lake cottage
Summary: What about the unknowns? Here is Tracey Davis, one of the Slytherin girls who never made it into the books about Harry Potter.


_Author Note: I'm still not sure if I really like this one. But I like the idea of it. For those who don't know, Tracey Davis never appears in a single Harry Potter book. But she was on the list of Harry's classmates that J.K. Rowling revealed in an interview with BBC in 2001. Rowling placed her in Slytherin and labeled her as being a half-blood, but for my story I changed her heritage. Tracey Davis, Hogwarts, and all people mentioned herein are totally and completely the products of J.K. Rowling's imagination (of which I am immensely jealous)._

* * *

Tracey Davis was not supposed to be in Slytherin house.

Her parents didn't really understand the letters she wrote home her first weeks at Hogwarts. No matter how she tried to explain it her parents just couldn't grasp the fact that since no one else in her family was magical, there was no logic behind her placement in the house of pure-bloods like Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. Maybe it came from not knowing anything about the wizarding world at all, or maybe they were too wrapped up in their own lives at home, but when Tracey got the first letter from her mother that said "_We know it might be hard at first, but you've always made friends_…" she figured it was hopeless. Mum and Dad couldn't do anything to change where she was, and they weren't about to take her out of school. Not after dealing with eleven years of untamed, untaught magic. Dishes falling off of shelves, untouched doors being locked – Mum said that it was Hogwarts or nothing. Tracey just didn't figure that being in Slytherin was going to be a part of the deal.

Yet here she was, stuck in a world of silver and green and cunning and snide remarks and children trying to become adults too quickly. Often Tracey wondered if trying to control her "magical tendencies", as Dad liked to refer to them, at a Muggle school wouldn't be easier than trying to deal with the likes of Malfoy and Parkinson. And sometimes Tracey thought that she was probably closer to being a Muggle than a witch, that the letter from Professor Dumbledore was sent to her house by mistake. Sometimes she hoped that it was just a dream and that soon she would wake up and realize it was all pretend. But she knew in her heart that it was real.

Oh, it wasn't all bad. She liked the classes, though they were difficult for someone who had never even heard of the Ministry of Magic before. And the castle astounded her with its moving staircases and forbidden passageways. But it seemed as though there was often more bad than good. When Malfoy and Parkinson found out that Tracey was a Mu... Muggle-born they blatantly refused to speak to her and even petitioned Professor Snape to have her removed from the dormitory. And most, though not all, of their fellow Slytherin first-years followed their example. Oh, Snape refused to listen to them and in a strange fit of kindness even pulled her aside and ordered her to inform him if they tried anything harmful, and after a while everyone just left her alone. But being invisible at a boarding school where no one seemed to care made Tracey pull into herself to the point that letters home were few and words spoken were never heard at all.

* * *

Her invisibility lasted for years. She was smart and did nearly as well as Hermione Granger on her exams so her teachers never felt the need to question her directly, and she always sat in the farthest corner in order to avoid being called upon. On the few occasions that she was, she usually had the correct answer and was passed over quickly. Professor Snape was not the type of house head that felt the need to check up on his students regularly. And Malfoy, Parkinson and Co. were too busy bullying Harry Potter and his friends that Tracey Davis faded into the shadowy corners of the castle like some forgotten ghost. There were times, of course, when she was spoken to. Once a new Hufflepuff thought that she was related to the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain Roger Davies and eagerly asked her about him one morning at breakfast, but Tracey became so flustered that the first-year quickly realized his mistake and went sheepishly back to his table. And once Ginny Weasley had apologized profusely after accidently running into her in the Potions corridor. But besides a few hurried words, Tracey was left alone, known only as "that one Slytherin… You know – the quiet one".

Mr. and Mrs. Davis never questioned their daughter's quietness over the summers and holidays. She had always been shy, keeping to herself and spending time reading alone in her bedroom. They just presumed that she wanted to learn more about the world of magic rather than taking part in the usual teenage girl's materialistic hobbies of endless phone calls and shopping and parties. So her parents left her to herself as well and never questioned her about school at all. They wanted her to be happy, and they thought that she was.

So years one and two quickly became years four and five and Tracey still seemed to be the same person at age fifteen that she was at age eleven. Silent, smart, and invisible. She didn't need a cloak like the one in the "The Tale of the Three Brothers", a story she had overheard an older Ravenclaw tell a younger student in the library. She could fade away just by being herself. Her roommates didn't even acknowledge her existence, though if they had asked she could have told them exactly what she thought about Malfoy's new haircut or the advent of Dolores Umbridge. And being invisible had its perks. She knew more about what went on in the halls than anyone else, and could have told Umbridge about Dumbledore's Army in December if she was the kind of person who would do such a thing. She wasn't.

Tracey never wondered what it would have been like to be placed in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw or even Hufflepuff for that matter. Wondering, she had learned early on, led only to unfulfilled hopes and unnecessary dreams. Perhaps she would have been someone with a name that others would remember, maybe she would have had friends to call on the phone or people to visit over holidays. But she didn't question. She knew that she only had to make it through, and then she could throw away her green and silver scarves and socks and ties and sweaters and become someone who had a name. Two more years, and then she could be Tracey Davis again.

* * *

It never should have happened, really. Theodore Nott was no gentleman, and if he had been his normal self he would kept on walking after hearing sobs coming from an alcove near the entrance to the Slytherin common room. And even if his normal self had checked on the source of the sobs, he probably wouldn't have given the girl a second glance after realizing that it was Tracey Davis who was curled up in a ball on the ground. The Carrows hadn't been kind lately, and it was harrowing enough to try to hold the house together when it seemed as though even Slytherin was falling apart after the return of Voldemort, much less deal with crying seventh-year girls. But Theodore Nott had not been feeling like himself for a very long time, so when he saw that Tracey Davis was the one in tears he did what first came to mind and that was to go and sit next to her on the cold stone floor.

"Tracey," she heard an unfamiliar voice say about two inches from her ear. "What's wrong?"

No one had spoken directly to her for about three months, so it was no surprise that she jumped at the question. Turning, she saw Nott, a boy in her own year who, while not nearly as malicious as Malfoy and his minions, could still leave younger students in tears. Scrubbing at her eyes and trying to calm her emotions, she coughed out, "My parents," before turning to face the wall again.

Nott thought for a moment. Davis was the most silent girl he had ever seen around Hogwarts, and he couldn't remember her ever speaking a word to him before, but he did remember something about Parkinson and Bulstrode giving her an awful time about being Muggle-born. In fact, he had been surprised at the beginning of the year to find that she was back at school at all knowing that Voldemort was in control. He had guessed that her parents had probably felt it safest that she was under the little protection that Snape, McGonagall and the other professors could offer. And now she was here, two weeks before Christmas holiday, sitting on the floor crying. And he had no idea what to do about it.

Still facing the wall, she sighed and passed him a letter.

He scanned the first few lines. _Miss Tracey Davis, we regret to inform you that your parents were found…_

He didn't need to read anymore. Death Eaters, his father included, had been going on random rampages ever since the spring, killing Muggles who knew about the magical world and Muggles who didn't. And while Theodore had never voiced his disapproval of Death Eater methods, it hurt to know that his father could have been the cause of the deaths of his classmate's parents and that students at school probably thought that he had the dark mark too. He didn't.

Tracey started talking. More than anyone had ever heard her talk in the past seven years, and it was Theodore Nott who was listening.

"I never even said goodbye. I figured that I would be home for Christmas, that maybe I could convince them to take a trip to the U.S. or at least let me stay home for next term. They dropped me off at the station and I waved and disappeared into the crowd just like I always do. And I've actually survived a lot better than I thought I would. I've avoided the Carrows and kept my head down and my mouth shut just like always. But now it doesn't even matter. He's winning. Potter's off on his death quest and Dumbledore's dead and I might as well just disappear for good…" She trailed off, wiping her eyes on her sweater sleeve. She was still facing the wall.

Nott grimaced. "When did you find out?" he asked.

"Two weeks ago," she said flatly.

"And you've held off with the tears until now?"

"Yes."

She was stronger than he had thought. She told him this even though she probably knew that his dad was in on the killing. He thought for another moment, and then stood up.

"Come on, Davis." He reached for her hand and pulled her up to face him. "We are going to go talk to Snape. Try to get him to send you someplace. It'll be ok." He knew it would be a long time before it would be ok, but he didn't want her to start crying again. "You can't stay here. We both know that."

No one had held her hand for a long time. Or his, for that matter. But as he pulled her down the hallway towards Snape's office she stared at their intertwined fingers. She tugged him to a stop.

"Nott?"

"Yeah?"

"I think," she paused, looking for the right words. "I think you are different than they are. No one else… No one else can see."

He stared out of a nearby window, looking up at the stars that were trying to shine through the clouds.

"You might be right. But maybe more people can see than you think. Maybe they just aren't looking. But they can see." He sighed. "Come on, Davis."

And for the first time in a long time, Tracey Davis felt as though someone had finally learned her name.


End file.
